


i know it's hard to breathe sometimes

by KmacKatie (kmackatie)



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grounding Touch, I'm really sticking to the no capitals in my titles, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, POV Essek Thelyss, alternative ending, canon compliant yearning of feelings, conversations are had, post-episode c2e128, spoilers up to and including Cat and Mouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 21:00:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30027774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kmackatie/pseuds/KmacKatie
Summary: Essek makes it to the external door, slamming it open with a gesture as he ducks through. Squinting in the sudden brightness, he pauses, staring around at the empty snow and waiting.Waiting, and hoping, remembering his own failed attempts, the phantom pain that spasmed up his back and cramped his leg, that he had to breathe through to dissipate. Teleportation was risky. He had warned Caleb…No. Caleb will be fine. They will all be fine.They have to be fine.———Jester'sdivine interventionworks guaranteeing them a safe teleport to Eiselcross, a conversation is had, and comfort is found. An alternative end to C2E128 - Cat and Mouse.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 38
Kudos: 271





	i know it's hard to breathe sometimes

**Author's Note:**

> After the stress of the last few episodes, I had the need to write an emotional alternative end to 128, and thus this was born out of a conversation on the ETFC Discord.
> 
> Thank you to [TheKnittingJedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKnittingJedi/pseuds/TheKnittingJedi), [CriticalPancake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Criticalpancake/pseuds/Criticalpancake), and [Sangreal](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Sangreal/pseuds/Sangreal) for the beta work, encouragement, and all round friendship!
> 
> Title from [Carry You by Ruelle](https://open.spotify.com/track/0TbP1ASV5mBpwpME75LWRA?si=xifbk13jSKKtiaBbo7CR2Q). One day I will come up with my own titles, but until then, I will continue to use appropriate song lyrics.

_I know it hurts_  
_It's hard to breathe sometimes_  
_These nights are long_  
_You've lost the will to fight_

_Is anybody out there?_  
_Can you lead me to the light?_  
_Is anybody out there?_  
_Tell me it'll all be alright_

* * *

The message bursts into his mind, as always, when he’s least expecting it. 

_Essek… we’re in trouble, please tell them not to harm us, we have family with us… it’s Trent.. and Caleb... please we have nowhere else—_

Jester’s voice is shaky, more so than in any of the other _sending_ he has received from her, and the anxiety that is his ever-present company these days leaps from simmering to boiling. He’s glad he was sitting down as he received it and not holding anything, as the hand resting on the edge of his desk begins to shake slightly. He clenches his hand for a moment before deliberately relaxing it.

“Jester, are you safe? Of course you are all welcome, come. Be... be careful with the teleport.”

He waits for a moment, in case there is another message, but the magic leaves him and there’s no swell of new arcane energy. It doesn’t make him feel better, even though he has grown more used to single messages from Jester recently. Her voice… 

It had been panicked, similar to how it was before they had arrived at the outpost the first time. The sound causes his stomach to twist, the knots of anxiety growing and churning. The message sounded hurried, as if they would be here in moments, and that is what spurs Essek from his chair and out.

He’s barely aware of the door slamming open, of the guards outside who whirl around at the noise. Barely aware of the orders he gives to hurry, to advise the Watch, to prepare for the potential of the sudden arrival of the Nein. He glides forwards, almost a blur at the pace he is setting through the corridors, and if he was any less panicked he would have been concerned at the stares and confusion left in his wake. With practiced movements, he grasps the length of copper wire from his component pouch, preparing his own sending to Uraya. He doesn’t wait for the response before he’s _sending_ to others in the Outpost, ordering a room to be cleared, and a healer.

Essek makes it to the external door, slamming it open with a gesture as he ducks through. Squinting in the sudden brightness, he pauses, staring around at the empty snow and waiting.

Waiting, and hoping, remembering his own failed attempts, the phantom pain that spasmed up his back and cramped his leg, that he had to breathe through to dissipate. Teleportation was risky. He had warned Caleb… 

_No_. Caleb will be fine. They will all be fine.

They have to be fine.

He stares into the brightness, is aware of figures behind him, speaking to him, but he ignores all of them, waiting until he sees what he’s looking for.

With a flash of amber arcane energy, a group of people materialises in the space outside the door to the outpost. Essek immediately recognises the mess of red hair as the lead figure collapses forward onto the snow, slumping sideways, hand barely coming up in time to hold himself upright out of the snow. At the same time, the snow erupts around them, members of the Aurora Watch materialising out of thin air, weapons drawn and arcane energy sparking.

“Hold!” he shouts, drifting forward and out of the shadows, hand crackling with energy as he throws a _shield_ spell over the group, unwilling to take any chances.

The members of the Aurora Watch halt instantly, weapons still drawn and aimed at the group. He can hear the creaking of bows straining under full draw, can see the flashes of readied arcane power held at bay.

Essek counts rapidly, eyes shifting across the group. Caleb, Jester, Veth, Caduceus… and then he falters. He vaguely recognises the red tiefling shivering against Jester’s side as the Ruby of the Sea, realises that this is the same tiefling he saw performing at the Martinet’s party a world ago. He sees something familiar and protective in the way Jester has one arm around her, the other clasping a spherical metal ball, and joins the dots from her sending earlier. There’s another halfling that after a moment of realisation he does recognise, and his already rapidly beating pulse stutters for a moment. Yeza Brenatto. Veth’s husband and one-time prisoner of the Dynasty. There’s a child who looks to be no older than four or five clutched in his arms, Yeza’s hand holding his head against his chest protectively, as if he can shield him from anything. There are matching looks of terror on the Ruby’s and Yeza’s faces as they squint in the blinding sun of Eiselcross, taking in the armed and poised Watch, the spires around them.

He doesn’t see Beauregard, Fjord, or Yasha.

Doesn’t give himself a moment to consider what that might mean as he focuses once again on those he had only seen two days prior. The looks on their faces are exhaustion and relief, as Jester also sinks onto the ground with a sob, and Veth turns to cling to Yeza. 

Caduceus notices his approach from where he has stepped forward, hand on the top of Caleb’s head. Weary, pink eyes meet Essek’s. 

“If there is anything you can do to protect against scrying, now is the time to do it.”

His eyes flick upwards towards one of the watchtowers and the short, green figure he can make out and knows to be Uraya, back from Rosohna that morning. Essek whistles, a piercing two-tone sound that cuts through the chaos. It’s returned after a beat, and there’s a shimmer as the wards return to normal.

“We have a moment,” he says, turning back to Caduceus and seeing those eyes assessing once again.

He follows the still outstretched hand down, and looks at Caleb.

There’s blood, he realises, pooling against the snow beneath Caleb’s hand. Not much, but the drops of red against the white stand out stark, and Essek can’t look away. Caleb’s hair is not contained in its usual tie, the strands catching the sun and turning it to liquid fire and he still hasn’t moved from where he’s breathing heavily, hand braced to keep him somewhat upright.

His own heartbeat is pounding in his ears as Caleb raises his head, and somehow, _somehow_ the look of absolute desolation and despair in Caleb’s eyes chills him to the bone faster and more effectively than the winds of the tundra ever could. 

It’s gone a moment later, as Caleb turns, face devoid of emotion as he counts out the Nein, names whispered under his breath as he makes it through them and closes his eyes, shuddering slightly as he pats Caduceus’ arm and uses it to stagger back to his feet.

“They need somewhere warm. They… they aren’t dressed for the cold.” Caleb’s voice is hoarse and barely audible over the wind.

Essek moves then, hovering forward and coming to rest beside Caleb and Caduceus.

“I have a chamber prepared. It’s warm, there are blankets. I can have food prepared?” It’s half a question, unsure of exactly what they need.

Caleb nods, eyes still flicking between Jester and Veth rapidly, a hand coming up to scrub at his eyes.

“ _Ja_ , good, good… _danke_.”

He wants to ask them what happened. Wants to go up and assure himself with touch that they are all okay. Wants to know where the other three are, and why they aren’t here. But he’s standing exposed outside a Dynasty outpost in a desolate ice-filled wasteland, aware of just how open it is and the numerous eyes watching them all carefully, so he does nothing other than stand aside. Stand aside and indicate towards the open doorway behind him, and he watches as they all begin to move towards it, hoping that his hammering heart cannot be heard as he turns to scan the horizon, half expecting further flashes of successful teleportation to flare across the snow.

A hand against his shoulder drags him from his thoughts, and he flinches slightly, a habit that he can’t seem to break himself of even here.

“Sorry, I—”

It’s Caleb, hand drawing back, and Essek shakes his head, not meeting his gaze.

“No, no it’s fine… I, ah, just…” He shrugs, incapable of putting a name to it. “Please, come. You are safe here.”

This time, it’s Caleb who flinches, breath hitching and eyes darkening for a moment. Caleb opens his mouth as if to speak, before he galnes around in a movement painfully familiar to Essek, and thinks better of it. Without a word, Caleb turns, hands scratching at his covered arms and shoulders hunching as he moves ahead of Essek and through the door he’s entered once before.

It’s different than the last time he saw them. Then there was confidence, a sense of surety in each of them as they told him about the troubles they faced, the Tomb Takers, and Aeor, the risk of the Eyes of Nine being unleashed on the world. 

The confidence Caleb carried is gone. 

It unsettles something in him, something that had become used to the constant strength they each carried, misguided or not. To how they each were so bold and colourful, their energy contagious and uplifting, and how utterly unaware they were of the effect they had on everyone they came into contact with. He shivers, and it’s not from the cold.

With a final look at the empty snow, he hurries in after them.

He introduces himself to the Ruby, and learns that his suspicion was right: this is Marion, Jester’s mother. He wishes their meeting was under more pleasant circumstances, that there wasn’t fear in the way Marion insists he call her by her first name, as she shrinks back from the unknown and every passing soldier despite Jester’s soothing reassurances. He learns that the halfling boy is Luc, Veth and Yeza’s son, that he idolises Veth in the way he clutches a toy crossbow to his chest and stares wide eyed from his father’s arms. He greets Yeza, getting the words out before the churning guilt and regret for the family he tore apart without knowing it overwhelms him.

And he observes because, even out here, even at the end of the world, in a research position with only Uraya aware of his temporary departure from his previous occupation, he is still the Shadowhand of the Lens, and he’s been trained to look for unspoken clues for decades. He observes, and can see that this, whatever it was, was a hurried departure. That there’s only one additional bag strung over Caduceus’ shoulder. That Marion, Yeza, and Luc are not dressed for the Eiselcross cold. That Yeza has no additional possessions aside from Luc’s crossbow, a few books, and some groceries that he clearly has forgotten he’s holding. That, while Caduceus is tending to all of them, he hovers near Caleb. That Jester and Veth keep eyes on him even as they tend to their families. Caleb, hands shaking, takes the metal orb and and haversack from Jester, cradling it gentle as he slings the pink back over his own shoulders.

They only spend enough time in the antechamber for Caduceus to hand over a new supply of hot cocoa, and for Essek to issue instructions to his soldiers to set up an additional watch as he leads the group to the chamber prepared for them.There are blankets, as promised, the healer ready to tend to any wounded, and he sends another member of the Watch off to find warm spare clothing, along with Uraya, knowing that, being the smallest, they might have something to fit Luc. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would do.

He hovers just inside the door, watching them as the healer moves between each of them and food is brought in. Watching how they function around each other, still a practiced unit even with missing members and added family. Luc is falling asleep where he is still clutched in Yeza’s arms, Veth curled up next to them, an arm around each of them protectively. Jester and Marion are in a corner, comforting each other as they settle under blankets.

There’s nothing more he can offer. They need rest, and recuperation. They don’t need him here, poking in to satisfy his own curiosity. It can wait. 

This time, he doubts they will be leaving without telling him. Caleb looks physically incapable of casting even if he wanted to.

He looks at each of them again, before turning.

“Essek,” says Caleb, catching him as he leaves, and Essek notes he hasn’t made any move to join the others, to partake in the food recently brought in. “I… Can I talk to you? Where you are sure scrying eyes can’t hear.”

The unstable feeling, which had eased slightly as he saw them all settled, returns with a vengeance, accompanied this time by a dryness in his throat and a different type of anxiety at the thought of talking with Caleb alone. They haven’t been alone since… since that brief moment after that spell, and Essek… he doesn’t want his fears confirmed. But Caleb is looking at him, desperation and something he isn’t willing to say is making itself known in Caleb’s eyes, and Essek can’t help it.

He is a weak creature and has long given up pretending he is anything else.

Essek nods, and holds the door open as Caleb moves past him. He notices Caduceus watching, giving him a small nod before turning back to Luc.

The walk is silent, broken only by the scuffle of Caleb’s boots across snow and stone, Essek aware of every open space they cross, every corridor he enters that is an open passage where he can’t avoid the eyes of his soldiers and others unknown. Even now, he is afraid of what may make it back to the Bright Queen despite Uraya and his best efforts. It’s protocol, to keep those under suspicion watched, and he knows just how good the Lens can be.

He’s pulled from his thoughts as he realises he’s walked to his personal quarters by habit, and not the study they met in last time. Blinking at the door, Essek half turns to Caleb before thinking better of it, and just opening the door. 

It’s a sparse room. All rooms at the outpost are sparse, and even his status isn’t enough to change that. A single bed is pressed against one wall, a desk and chair opposite. A small stool, a narrow cupboard, and a bookshelf made up the rest of the decor. The bookshelf was the one demand he had made and it was honoured. Muted greys and pale wood surround him, and the arcane light on the desk flares to a soft purple hue the minute he crosses the threshold.

Settling down onto his feet, he steps aside to let Caleb enter, easing the door closed behind him. He takes a moment to breathe, eyes flicking closed before he moves his hand in a practiced gesture, arcane glyphs flaring to life before settling invisible. It also activates a warming charm, bringing the temperature of the room to a more pleasant warmth. Essek shrugs out of his heavy cloak and mantel, hanging them on the back of the door before turning to Caleb.

“We are warded,” he says in explanation. “It is not possible to scry here.”

Caleb nods, pacing across the room for a moment before settling, and turning to Essek. The mask is still there, still as neutral as Caleb can make it, but Essek sees the fraying strings, sees it slip and sees the worry flash across his eyes again.

He’s aware of every heartbeat in his chest, every intake of breath and twitch of muscle. He’s… not sure what to say. What to ask or what Caleb wants. So he just waits, arms tucked behind his back.

Caleb’s eyes flick across him, roaming, before he reaches a hand into an inside coat pocket and pulls out an object roughly the size of Caleb’s palm. Amber and silver, an almost bobbled cord dangling from it.

“This is an amulet of proof against detection and scrying,” says Caleb, voice and hand both shaking as he holds it up towards Essek. “It’s the same as the one I used to wear. Do wear, uh… ” He shakes his head for a moment, hand clenching around the amulet. “It’s complicated.”

Essek remembers his early attempts to scry on the group, how any time Caleb was the focus it failed, how he was never seen in proximity to the others. It confirms a suspicion he’s had for a while.

Caleb goes to move, before aborting, hand relaxing and tightening on the amulet as he hesitates on the spot.

“That, ah, that explains a few things,” Essek admits, hand coming to rest against his lips in a habitual movement. “I was curious.”

Caleb smiles briefly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He steps forward into Essek’s space, amulet dropping until he grasps the chain in both hands and is able to lift it up and over Essek’s head. Essek freezes, not daring to move a muscle as Caleb drapes it around his neck, hands shifting down to adjust it to sit neatly on his chest. Caleb pauses, staring at the amulet under his palm, and it’s warm. It’s warm in the space and Essek forgets to breathe.

“This one is for you.”

It’s a low rumble from here, and Caleb looks up. From this close, Caleb’s eyes reflect a dark void that he could lose himself in. It captures him. It always has, and Essek has been slowly realising he would do nearly anything to clear that darkness away from it.

“ _Caleb_ ,” he breathes, hand coming up to touch the amulet.

His fingers connect with Caleb’s and there’s a spark of electricity, of a current that jolts through himm.

Caleb flinches at the contact.

“Don’t take it off. Don’t. _Please_. You have to… attune to it, I’m not sure what else you have, but this is important and necessary. It will help against… against _them_.”

His eyes widen as he realises the implication. That… he can’t be tracked. Can’t be seen.

Something else claws its way through his chest. Claws its way and wraps around his heart and he can’t name it. He can’t, not here and not now. The trust he has been given, even if Caleb doesn’t realise. He could… teleport _anywhere_ and never be found again. He could…

“This is yours. I can’t take it.”

Caleb steps back, drawing a second, identical amulet from under his shirt.

“It’s not. I have… we all have them. Everyone in that room has one.”

“How?”

The story comes out, piece by fractured piece. The purpose of the amulets. How they knew about them and the person who delivered the information. What they are to Caleb, the connections to his past. That they were in Rexxentrum after looking for allies, how these amulets were to help.

He gets colder and colder the longer Caleb talks, Zemnian accent strong and thick, voice so soft that Essek has to strain to hear it, even with the few paces separating them. Gets colder still, as Caleb explains with brutal detachment the source of his scars, what Ikithon did to him, what he did to his parents under that influence.

Colder, and unworthy.

Essek _worked_ with them. Handed over Dynasty secrets and religious artifacts, thought he had found _peers_ and _academics_ to share in _research_ when all he got was empty promises and vague letters. The foolishness he had, the never-ending spiral of shame he was still sinking in.

There’s more red in his ledger than he can ever balance out.

How does Caleb stand him? Stand to be near him, to center him, to reach, always reach and hope.

And still Caleb continues to talk. Breath by staggering breath Caleb explains Vergesson and his intimate knowledge of it. The blueprints gifted to them to help. The simple plan to get in and out. He explains how he lost himself the moment he was inside, the years of trauma overwhelming him and the cold efficiency in which he took down every obstacle in his path. The dunamancy he reverse engineered that contributed to it. 

And Essek can’t help the bite of pride under the screaming anxiety and burning dread and the realisation of the dots that would be connected. Can’t help but be proud that Caleb worked it out from one viewing and scraps of dunamancy. That he knows that Caleb will eclipse him in years if not months, and he will still be proud even if he doesn’t survive to see it.

It’s enough for him to break into Caleb’s words, to break the spiral Caleb is going on, to tell him that it’s okay. That he signed his own death warrant long before Caleb used dunamancy in the Empire.

“Did it help?” he asks, voice gentle and intentionally soft.

“Yes.”

“Then it served its purpose.”

He sees Caleb’s shoulders shake as he wraps his own arms around himself, scratches at his skin under his sleeves, pushing the coat up his arms. Sees how red his wrists are already.

“But he knows. He… spoke to me and implied… I have put you in terrible danger.”

The echo of his own words from the bowels of a ship where everything changed. Essek closes his eyes for a moment, sick in his own intimate knowledge of how Ikithon’s sendings can get under the skin, can plague you until you submit. How he still can’t help but flinch every time he receives a message fearing it might be him.

And how he wouldn’t change it. Wouldn’t change the decision he made and the path that lead to this moment here. Essek opens his eyes and meets Caleb’s.

“He already knows. I have been a… a loose end since I defied Ludinus and told him I was done.” _You should try friends some time_. Reckless words uttered in a moment of insanity that felt right and he doesn’t regret. Essek shrugs, a movement so at odds with the anxiety and panic that is his constant companion that he’s surprised he can make it at all. He holds Caleb’s gaze, trying to convey just how much his priorities, his loyalties, are tied to those who showed him there was something more to this life. “So be it.”

Caleb screws his face up, eyes closing as he ducks his head down, unwilling to accept the forgiveness offered. They have always been similar, so Essek understands.

Stepping forward, deliberately scuffing his boot across the stone so Caleb can hear him approach and pull away if he wants to, Essek slowly reaches out. Caleb stands there, eyes still closed as his fingers scratch at his arms, but he doesn’t move away. He knows, now, how it feels when you can’t stop your body from making an anxious movement. Knows how hard it is to find stillness and peace, to let yourself down from a ledge. Knows as well how centering and grounding another's touch can be. 

For all the times Caleb has centered him, maybe he can offer the same.

He squeezes Caleb’s fingers gently, before lifting them up and away from the scratching. He has Caleb’s attention now. Eyes flicking up to meet piercing blue, Essek raises Caleb’s hands to his lips and kisses them. He feels Caleb’s intake of breath, hears it in the stillness of the room. The back of his fingers are rough, weathered in a way that speaks of adventures and utility. Turning them over, Essek lowers his eyes and places a further kiss to each palm, as if through this singular motion he could convey how precious those hands are. How they have kept Caleb safe, have kept the Nein safe, how they have anchored and captured him in ways he can’t yet admit out loud.

“Breathe,” he says against Caleb’s palms as he looks up again. “Take a deep breath, and exhale.”

He watches as Caleb closes his eyes and shudders, as if every moment is a challenge and a battle, and then breathes in. Breathes in, and lets it go.

“Again.”

Another breath. 

“Again.”

Another.

The next is done by Caleb without prompting. As is the next, until he’s breathing on his own, measured and slow. There’s something more settled in it, in the way Caleb’s shoulders relax inch by inch. It gives Essek time to look at him, really look at him.

There’s an exhaustion in the deep lines across Caleb’s forehead, a tension that he suspects has been around for days, even before their reunion two days prior. He’s always found a connection in Caleb, in their tenuous friendship… before. Of all the Nein, Caleb understood him best. A connection that he feared after that night on the boat in Nicodranas, and had thought about for weeks, wondered at, and then couldn’t meet in a room full of people who knew him in a way he was still coming to terms with. Not until Caleb again reached out and sealed his fate further.

If there was any doubt in his mind, it is gone now, standing here, holding Caleb’s hands, and willing to face any adversary if it meant spending more time with this man who doesn’t know how precious he is.

Time.

 _It takes time_.

It also takes actions and intentions made clear, words spoken rather than ignored, choices that feel reckless but necessary.

Essek steps forward again, one hand shifting to hold both of Caleb’s, the other coming up to rest gently on his shoulder. He’s hyper aware that it is the most contact he has initiated. It’s the most prolonged contact they’ve shared, and there’s something in him that realises now that he’s here, he doesn’t want to let go. Doesn’t want to go back to pulling away and shutting it out. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, Essek pulls Caleb towards him, tucking the hand holding Caleb’s in against his chest as he shifts forward again to wrap his arm across Caleb’s shoulders. His fingers itch to shift into his hair, to pull it free and and feel the strands between his own fingers, but he stops, unsure. This is about Caleb. About what Caleb needs, and while he has been good at guessing, at observing, he wouldn’t exactly call this his speciality.

Caleb lets him.

He doesn’t protest at Essek’s motions, just goes into the embrace and Essek feels Caleb’s forehead connect with his shoulder. Feels the huff of shuddering breath against his ear, the shaking of shoulders, and the hands that grip his in a death grip. Staggers slightly as Caleb drops most of his weight onto Essek, a hurried incantation and a flare of dunamancy solidify his hold.

“ _Scheisse_ —”

“ _Shhh_ , it’s fine. I’m fine,” says Essek, low and soft against Caleb’s hair, hand shifting to rub soothing circles into his back.

“Essek… I—”

“You are safe here. The Nein are safe. _You got them out_.”

“ _Nein_ , I made it _worse_ —”

“ _Caleb_. You all _walked_ away. Yeza and Luc, Ms. Lavorre, you got them out. You are allowed to rest.”

“I _can’t—_ ”

“For me. Please, _please_ , Caleb,” whispers Essek, his voice breaking and it’s obvious to him and he doesn’t know how it isn’t to anyone else, to Caleb. How he looks up and prays to a god he doesn’t believe in that he can do this, can keep them all safe to rest. “Rest. Let your body and mind recover, and then tomorrow we will get Beauregard and Yasha and Fjord out. Let me _help_.”

There’s the strain of fabric under his hand, and he realises that he has clenched his fingers in Caleb’s coat without realising it. That his other hand is clenched just as tightly on Caleb’s hand, that he’s holding on for dear life and willing Caleb to take what he is offering.

Maybe it’s that desperate hope that causes Caleb’s breath to hitch again, before he nods, forehead still against Essek’s shoulder.

Maybe it’s the conversation from days before, honest and open.

Maybe it’s the memory of spells, of learning, of gold dust and obsidian. Of wine and cheeses, clay, and ink.

But Caleb nods, and something in him unwinds and eases. As much as it can, when logically he knows that nothing material has changed and they are still as fucked as they were two days ago. 

He steps forward, guiding Caleb backwards across the room, until the back of Caleb’s legs hit against the edge of the bed which goes unused more nights than not. He guides Caleb to sit, hand cradling his head as he goes. Without speaking, he squeezes Caleb’s hands again, before releasing them and drawing back, dropping to his knees before Caleb.

He can see the way Caleb stiffens, knows the scenarios that must be running through his head. There’s no blame in it. Once, he would have used this tool and many others if he thought it would have protected him. Would have liked to use it when it wasn’t about manipulation any more.

Instead, he once again reaches out slowly, meeting Caleb’s eyes unflinchingly. 

The removal of footwear from one person by another is a ritual sacred in the temples of the Luxon, the cleansing that follows forming part of an intricate ceremony by Leylas and Quana the day the darkness is pulled back. The irony isn’t lost on him that here they are surrounded by blinding light for hours, that it’s a ritual he’s scorned for decades, and he’s offering it without its significance being known. It’s a bastardisation and a benediction of the only gift he can offer here, at the end of all things.

He unlaces Caleb’s boots, and eases one foot free, and then the other. Places them next to the bed, lined up and ready for morning. He rises, hands reaching this time to Caleb’s scarf, unwinding it loop by loop, easing it from his neck. It goes onto the end of the bed, a pile of blue, white, and grey against the purple.

Caleb is staring at him, eyes wide and no longer suspicious, almost curious.

The coat is next. He eases it from Caleb’s shoulders, encouraging Caleb to shrug out of it and stand so he can pull the fabric from around him before he sits again. It’s a new one, and he can’t help but miss the blue and purple from Rosohna. Can’t help it, even as he appreciates the red of the tunic under it.

He realises he’s paused, staring at the fabric and the necklace around Caleb’s own throat, coat clutched in his hands and he’s waited longer than he should have. That Caleb is watching him, and he can’t read the expression on his face. It’s gone a moment later, the exhaustion once again reappearing.

He steps back, hands still around the coat and turns, needing to break away from the piercing gaze that he is sure sees straight through him. Needs to step away and calm his racing heart, control his shaking hands. Needs to take his own breath, afraid to break the quiet understanding they have come to.

Resting the coat over a stool, Essek turns back, feeling those eyes still on him. He holds a hand out, waving it in an arcane gesture and with a flash of purple, the heavy chair floats gently into the air.

“Would you—” Caleb starts before breaking off, hunching over slightly, eyes looking everywhere but Essek. “I’m… used to sleeping near… normally Nott but she has Luc, and Yeza… I need... _I need_ …”

Essek pauses the chair, leaving it hovering in the space as he looks at Caleb.

“ _Essek_. _Bitte_.”

His heart breaks, hearing the need that he knows Caleb would normally keep locked up. That Caleb in this moment, trusts Essek enough to ask. He understands. Of course he understands.

He lets the chair drift down, lets it settle carefully before taking a step closer. Pausing before the bed to slip off his own boots and line them up next to Caleb’s. Then he shrugs out of his tunic, leaving him in his dark woolen undershirt and pants, raw and exposed in a way he hasn’t been with anyone.

He turns, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Caleb for a moment, before he shifts back, curling his knees up and behind Caleb, sitting up against the headboard. Stills, and waits. 

He would wait for as long as Caleb needed. Lifetimes, if they had them.

_Time. It takes time._

It’s a long moment of Caleb sitting on the edge and staring at the dim room before he turns, curling onto his side, back to Essek and hunched up. It’s another moment as Caleb shifts backwards ever so slightly, stilling as his back hits Essek’s thigh. He doesn’t dare breathe, doesn’t dare disturb this tenuous bubble of comfort that they’ve built. Caleb visibly relaxes, back pressing against Essek in a way that leaves no space between them, that is sure and stable, and Essek can’t help but reach down and ease his hand through Caleb’s hair.

Even in the low light, the strands still catch and burn as if lit by Caleb’s internal fire, a contrast to the lilac glow coming from the arcane light on the table. Caleb lets out a noise, so soft that Essek thinks he imagined it until he repeats the motion and causes it to happen again. And again, he watches as Caleb’s shoulders relax, as his body shifts and slowly unwinds, as he shifts further, losing the battle against sleep.

He keeps his hand in Caleb’s hair well after he is sure he has fallen asleep. The other cradling his own amulet and staring at it. It’s a gift, this, and Caleb’s trust. A tenuous thing that he will do everything to protect.

“I have you, Caleb.”

It’s whispered into the darkness, into the space filled by Caleb. It’s whispered as a prayer and a promise, a call and confirmation. It needs no response, no return or acknowledgment. He was damned long before he met Caleb, and he will be damned long after he leaves Caleb. _Long_ after he leaves, and he will stay for as long as he is allowed. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me most often screaming about the wizards on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/KmacKatie).
> 
> Thank you for reading!  
> \- Katie


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